


Only Soldiers

by Demerite



Category: All Quiet on the Western Front - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, POV First Person, Too many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 13:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4836317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere behind the fighting, two soldiers share a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first draft of this when I was still in early high school. That was a good five years ago now. I re-read and decided that this needed a re-write to be anything decent, then was proud enough of what I'd produced to post it. I tried to make it as in-character as possible, I have read the book at least five times now so there's that. 
> 
> I'm sorry in advance.

Kat braces himself above me and I twist around so that I can see him. 

“Are you sure about this Paul?” He asks me, as if my request tonight is unusual, even though it isn’t. 

I nod. I love him, and I want him. Now. 

With my consent given, Kat seems to relax, the tension leaving him like water wrung out of a wet shirt. His large hands are steady on the small of my back, as he smooths them against my skin, soothing and almost a caress. I tell myself that’s not what it is, that I am imagining it, and concentrate instead on the words that are spilling from Kat’s mouth instead, low and rolling like distant artillery fire. Kat always speaks when we do this, giving voice to the filthy things he is thinking. I can’t help but enjoy it; I like Kat’s voice, and it is nice to be complimented once in awhile. 

Kat’s hands move lower, and I spread my legs, already willing him to touch me. He chuckles, warm and low, the smoke-roughened laugh I have always loved, and slaps one cheek lightly. It is his way to chastising me, telling me to be patient. I do not want to be patient, I want Kat, but painful experience has taught me that waiting while Kat prepares me results in a far more pleasurable outcome than being impatient. 

His touch is light at first, despite how we both know I can take a little roughness, and his fingers are coated in something cool and slick. For a moment, I wonder what it is, and then decide that it is not worth knowing. We’ve done this with strange things before, butter and fat mostly, but more times than not we’re had to use our own spit, which doesn’t work nearly as well. I think that perhaps this is some sort of oil, and for a moment I am distracted by considering where Kat could have got oil at a time like this. 

Kat has long, broad fingers, and while I enjoy the way they feel once they are inside of me, they are always painful when they go in. This time is no different, my whole body goes tense at the intrusion, and I have to remind myself to breathe, and make a conscious effort to relax my muscles to aid Kat. 

“That’s it,” Kat murmurs, sounding as if I am a rifle that has jammed instead of his very warm, very alive comrade, “Loosen up for me.” He doesn’t ask if I am ready for another finger - he stopped asking a long time ago - instead he assumes I am, sliding in a second along with the first. The stretch is uncomfortable at a first, the sensation painful rather than pleasurable, but then Kat hums lightly in concentration, twists his fingers a little and strokes a familiar, specific place inside me. Pleasure jolts through me like an electric current, and I bury my face in the pillow, clench my fists around the iron uprights of the bed and moan. Kat laughs and does it again. 

Kat’s fingers withdraw, and I am momentarily ashamed of the small, need-filled sound I make. Kat doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t seem to mind. His hands wraps around and under my hips, drawing me up so I am braced on my hands and knees. The air around me is cool still, and I shiver at its touch on my skin. 

Kat sees the shiver, and must take it for something else, because he places a hand flat against my side and asks, “Are you sure?” again. It is infuriating how he keeps asking, as though I do not know what I want. 

By way of response, I spread my legs a little more, and nod again. I am certain that Kat is what I want. 

Satisfied that I am sure, Kat puts one hand on my hip, and if I twist round a little bit I can watch as he uses the other hand to guide himself towards me. 

The first press against the muscle is almost painful, but once he has breached the taut ring, he sinks in with far greater ease. I let my head drop between my shoulders and groan, long and low. Kat curses, the words mumbled and slurred, and somewhere it turns into rough praise, and I can hear him saying something about how tight I am. Under normal circumstances, I would have a witty response for him, but with him buried deep inside me, and our breath coming loud and hard in the quiet room, I find that I have nothing I can say to him. 

Kat begins to move, only small movements, a gentle roll of the hips. Even that much movement makes him groan, surprisingly loudly. I remember that here, we don’t have to be quiet; there are no other soldiers to hear us, no officers to discipline us, no-one. Just us. We don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. 

The other members of our little group know, of course. It’s hard to miss; when two soldiers vanish from their barracks overnight, and when they reappear the next morning, one of them has difficulty sitting while the other has an undeniably smug look on his face. Tjaden claimed that it was obvious what we were doing, and Leer and Haie laughed uproariously when he told them. They’re all sworn to utmost secrecy about it, and of course I trust them; they’re my brothers and we keep each other’s secrets. 

Tjaden asks me about it sometimes. Mostly about what it feels like, and do I really enjoy it. I tell him that I do like it, but I am a loss to describe what it feels like. Every time I open my mouth, I realise that the words I have planned are not quite right. In the end I tell Tjaden that he should find someone else and work it out for himself. He thinks I am just being cheeky, and swaggers off, laughing. 

I don’t blame Tjaden for being curious, not really. Out here, entertainment is pretty thin on the ground, and with no women around for miles, listening to someone else’s dirty stories is the best you can do. Not that I would care if there were any women about; I’d gladly trade a hundred nights with any number of girls for a few hours with Kat. 

Kat has increased his pace, both hands gripping my hips hard enough that I know there will be bruises there by morning. His thrusts move us both, and make the bed frame creak. I fervently hope that we do not break it. 

Kat is being deliberately rough, I can tell. He is capable of gentleness, I have seen it, but not here. Not with me. I like it this way, the rougher he is, the less time I have to think about what we have to go back to in the morning. 

“Paul…” he groans my name, and the breathless tone in his voice is all I need to be able to tell how close he is to completion. He shifts a little, changing the angle of his thrusts, and once more he strikes that place inside of me, sending sparks of pleasure ricocheting through my body. I know I don’t need him to touch me, that I will come very soon, but he moves one hand from my hip and grasps me anyway. He jerks quickly, and I swear desperately, barely able to support myself on my shaking arms. I am completely at Kat’s mercy, whatever he may decide. If he stopped right now, I would do anything to get him to start again. I close my eyes, attempting to control my body, but it’s no use. Between his hand on me and the hot pleasure that burns through me with each of his thrusts, I know I can’t last much longer. Neither can Kat. 

Sure enough, the release I’ve been craving shudders through me. I can no longer support my weight on my arms, and I collapse onto the mattress, my moan sounding suspiciously like Kat’s name. Kat follows only seconds later, body spread over my back, burying his face against my neck and growling out a curse. 

He only stays still for a moment before pulling out of me. I hiss softly in pain and discomfort; now that the pleasurable glow is fading, the ache in my muscles is creeping back in. 

Kat lies back and lights a cigarette. He’s sprawled in the centre of the bed, taking up more space than he really needs to. I eye him speculatively, taking in the bruises on his torso. WIth a grin, I press my elbow against a particularly dark one, making him wince and move over so I can sit beside him. 

“Cheap trick.” he says, offering me the cigarette. He knows I ran out yesterday. 

“Works though.” I respond, taking a drag and passing it back. 

“Go to sleep.” Kat tells me. 

Normally, one of us leave whatever bed we have found at this point, but this bed is large, and there is easily enough space for the both of us. Kat flicks the cigarette out, and grins briefly at me. It is a happy, sated grin, with a hint of his own wildness to it. 

Obediently, I begin to drift off to sleep, used to following orders, and glad of the chance to rest. Just as sleep is about to take me, I hear Kat curse softly. 

“Damnit.” he whispers, angry and fervent, like a desperate prayer, “Damnit, I’ve fallen in love with you.” He probably thinks I’m asleep. I can’t imagine why else he would say it. 

I should keep quiet. I should pretend that I am asleep. Instead, I reach across and take his hand with mine. 

“I think I might love you.” I say, even though it is futile to love someone when we are in a war that will doubtless kill us both. 

Kat is quiet then, and I wonder if he has fallen asleep. He hasn’t. He is watching me in the low light, his face intent. I find that I would very much like to kiss him, but I am not sure if he will allow it. It has never been a part of our arrangement before. But neither has love. 

Kat seems to know what I am thinking, because he cups my jaw in one hand and leans in to brush his lips gently over mine. It is soft in a way that should feel wrong in our harsh and violent world, but it doesn’t. Instead, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you're here in this tiny fandom shipping this tiny ship I welcome you. If this fic has somehow dragged you into shipping this ship I apologise. Really, I'm so sorry.


End file.
